Summary:Thor visits the Asgardian Embassy, meets Amora. Log Info:Storyteller: {$storyteller} |
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*
Through the main doors comes a somewhat literal force of nature. The weather outside is slick and wet from showers off and on throughout the morning. The doors were flung open with ease, revealing the very large form of the Asgardian prince, dripping with a splattering of water, his umbrella loose to the side. Thor's attention is on it, pulling it shut. With a metallic click, he manages to break it, and it sags sideways in his other broad hand, a loose tangle of soaked navy cloth and thin metal and plastic struts.
"Your grace," greets one of the attendants, who rushes forward to bow and look at the vicinity of Thor's feet. He ends up handing over the umbrella with a bemused deep breath, and then spreads his hands at it a little, as if to say 'that happened'.
Thor is dressed decently in midgard fashion: a short dark leather jacket over an overly snug gray hoodie, jeans, weather-resistant dark boots. He brushes back the hoodie off his hair, moistened tendrils of blonde coming loose as he rakes back through it over his head and looks around the embassy. He doesn't come here much at all, not really, and much of the reaction is that of being stunned to see him.
That, and that the staff was warned that the thunder god might be explosive. His attitude doesn't look explosive, at least. Just damp.
*
"The Mighty Thor Odinson. Your Majesty~" The teasing voice comes from atop the spiral staircase where a familiar blonde figure - Amora, famed Enchantress of Asgard - strides slowly down the stairs, one hand grazing the railing with her fingertips, green eyes fixed on Thor whenever the winding stairway allows. She's dressed all in green, her tights and high heeled boots seeming to blend together into one, wearing a short shoulderless dress with detached green sleeves on her forearms.
Reaching the bottom of the stairway, she puts one hand on her hip and smiles at the Asgardian prince, her every mannerism seeming to scream that she owns this place. So… typical Amora. "I had a feeling you might come through my door. How can we help you, my Liege?"
*
Thor orients towards Amora at the top of the stairs smoothly, head and pale blue gaze tilting up to find hers. His brows quirk a little, but otherwise he doesn't react negatively to her. Positive reaction would be pushing it, but he's automatically regal, if a little bit abrupt in his response. "Amora," Thor identifies, his voice carrying throughout the room, easily to the top of the stairs. The thundererer has a tendency to boom.
"Were you warned?" Thor asks, with a rueful, brief chuckle. He approaches a handful of strides to the bottom of the stairs, but awaits her there, relaxed. "I am not here to pressure. Nor to send messages; I am aware of Heimdal's deliberate lack of response, and what that means," Thor says, his tone turning flat, the irritation not well buried.
"I am here to inquire after my monetary account access. I believe I need some kind of plastic card," Thor says, lifting a hand to depict a thing several inches across, and trying not to show his grumpiness over the whole situation. "Know you of this?"
*
"I like to think…" Amora says, brushing her hair behind her ear on one side, "… that I have a special sense for handsome men on a mission.~" She teases with a smirk, before sighing softly, closing her eyes and giving a short dismissive wave of her hand, "… but if you must break the magic behind things, yes… we were warned." She grins slightly as she strides past you; turning slowly mid gait, all but circling you in an almost predatory manner before stopping at your side. "Although! All things considered, I expected you'd take this worse." She says chipperly, one hand on her chin.
When you state your purpose - financial aid, rather than the thundering demands for a return home she expected, Amora seems briefly… flabbergasted is a good word. Though the expression gives way to amusement, and a short, musical little laugh. "I see!" She says, clapping her hands together. "We all must endure human spending rituals down here, I suppose." Amora brings two fingers to the middle of the green tiara on her forehead, and slides them down. By the time they reach the bridge of her nose, the tiara is gone, and a pair of green spectacles have taken their place on her eyes, a faint green sparkle telling of the minor magic involved. "My sympathies. We can help you, certainly~"
*
Thor mostly returns the mild flirtation with an upbeat half-smile. He's something of an open book: there's no masking of anything to him: he has a genuine quality about the whole of the situation, as well as his response to her. He's skeptical but fearless, regal in his expectation of being assisted without issue. It is entitled, in a manner, but not incorrect: he is the crown prince of Asgard. Of course he gets expense accounts.
"You expected more of a petulant frustration or tantrum?" Thor asks, voice amused, but also slightly clouded. "I am glad I am able to exhibit more — dignity than that," he gives, one hand passing back against his neck, and wringing some droplets out of the side of his mane.
When she says she can help him? It is as if sun broke through clouds. Thor just about beams upon her. It is a sudden aspect of the god that can surprise mortals that aren't prepared for it. "Most excellent!" he announces, to the whole of the embassy. "Let us procure my plastic, then!"
*
Perhaps it speaks to the qualities of Asgard that strong, simple emotions are what's expected, and what's typically greeted positively. Amora's pouting response at first, - "*Petulant*, no, no… I would expect you have every reason to be upset." - is contrasted by her beaming smile in response to Thor's enthusiasmm, laughing merrily as she steps back and sweeps her hand across her body in a deep bow, declaring, "You will have it, my Prince~" When she straightens up, the glasses have once again been replaced with her tiara. "Worker boy! Prepare a credit card for Prince Thor!"
"My name-" a man sputters, "My name's Vilthei-"
"Sshhhhh!" Amora puts a finger over her lips, "Don't spoil the mood." With that, Amora saunters to the counter as the staff works on getting you what you need, the youthful (by Asgardian standards) Enchantress seating herself on the countertop and crossing her legs. "We'll have you taken care of. Speaking of *which*…" she says, circling one finger so her hair wraps around it as she smiles at you, "*Do* feel welcome to come by whenever it suits you, my liege. Whatever your…" she waves her hand dismissively, "… circumstances… I'm sure everyone would like you to still feel at home. Moreso than the Avengers can, I imagine."
*
Thor is amenable, and observe the little show Amora puts on with patience and good cheer. He gives Vilthei (or whatever) an amused look when he sputters, but doesn't interfere. Amora seems capable of managing the people present, and Thor isn't interested in micromanagement whatsoever. He simply comes towards the counter and folds his arms over his chest. The hoodie and jacket sleeves ride up due to the length and mass of his arms, leaving his heavy hands and wrists bare. He's relaxed in a manner. When it appears there will be more of a wait, he unfolds his arms and leans on the counter.
"It is not a competition," Thor chuckles, light eyes examining the hair that curls around Amora's finger, gaze drawn to the movement, before his gaze moves just aside to meet hers again and hold it. "Though if it were, there are few things that can match Asgardian hospitality, it is an unfair comparison to attempt to make," he assures her evenly.
Thor's brows turn more broody as his 'circumstances' are addressed. "It is merely a brief setback, a misunderstanding. I do not think it should be treated as more than that. Father's opinion- I've taken it under consideration," says Thor, with an edge of, well, frustration, but he's controlling it well. Thor clearly disagrees with what happened, though he hasn't brought a thunderstorm with him. "I intend to fix this soon enough. Until then, finances would aid me."
*
Amora clasps her hands togeter over her knee and draws it back a bit as she rocks back and forth on the counter a little. "Oh, everything's a competition, my liege~ It's simply a matter of wether you feel like winning." She insists merrily.
Though as Thor's demeanor grows more serious, Amora frowns a little, and sighs with a little nod. "'Tis none of my busineess, surely, what transpires between royals." She admits, about as close as she'll come to apologising for broaching the subject without being pushed for it. "But for what it's worth… Mighty Thor… I think your valor speaks for itself. And I doubt they'll forget for long." Not that she knows the circumstances personally, but she infers through the nature of these men that 'honor and duty' come up a lot with clashing interpretations.
"Until then…" she says as lowly Valtheim produces a card, which she snatches between two fingers, planting a playful kiss on its surface before holding it out to you, "… with my compliments, your Majesty."
*
"Hm. Then in that case, the embassy does win in many ways, though not in all of them," Thor decides, generously. "For it does not have many of the best heroes of this realm within the walls. I should invite them, that would be a grand feast. I believe my brother Baldur has such an event planned soon enough," Thor reflects. He shrugs, letting that go.
"Your support is noted and appreciated, lady Amora," Thor grants, with a graceful incline of his head, in the same manner he might give to Loki: accepting of help, but cautious, often.
Then, Thor is given what he desires! A card. The kiss doesn't seem to register with him, he just accepts it. "Wonderful. I was running into many a trouble without it," Thor doesn't /really/ know what he's been given, which is probably evidenced by his indifferent examination of it. He looks at both sides with a mild skepticism about the importance of the small item, and then accepts it, pushing it into the back pocket of his overly snug jeans. Hopefully she did put a bit of magic on that card, or it's going to get crushed. Unless she wants him to come back for a new one, that is! Thor releases the counter and gives a slight partial nod of head to her: a royal acknowledgement that isn't a bow. Kings don't bow. "I appreciate your efficiency. Until next time; I must be away."
*
Amora may have, she may not have. It's hard to predict the whims of the Enchantress - and wether professionalism will win out over the little games that go through her head. Regardless of the card's ultimate fate, Amora purrs "I'm looking forward to it~"
"Be well!" She says in parting with a little finger wave. When Thor leaves she props her chin up on her hand and sighs, watching the empty doorway.
Valtheim sniffs. "He didn't sign the back of it."
"Ssshhhhhhh."